


Down On Both Knees

by Meduseld



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: BDSM, First Time, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Porn with Feelings, Smut, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:33:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27866913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meduseld/pseuds/Meduseld
Summary: Eddie’s son isn’t the only reason he doesn’t date. Or, Eddie has preferences that manage to align perfectly with Buck’s.
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Comments: 38
Kudos: 314





	Down On Both Knees

It was easy to keep it all to himself when Buck was a stranger, just an arrogant brash firefighter tilting his chin up at him, daring him to come closer. Giving off the vibe that he _wanted_ Eddie to do it. 

Idly fantasizing about putting him on his knees, in his _place._ And then it wasn’t easy but it was just as impossible to actually say, when Buck was his best friend, his right hand, the man helping raise his son. 

It isn’t something he can just confess, even though he’s already started, already told Buck things he thought he could never tell anyone else. And Buck listens. He always does. 

The first time he’d asked Eddie why he didn’t date, what the real reason was, dodging it was easy. 

Now he has no idea how to be honest, how to say that he isn’t built that way. And not in the way Buck thinks.

A one-night stand won’t trust him with that, their body naked and vulnerable to the way he wants to touch it, to make it sing. 

And dating? He’d have to get attached first, find how to broach it. Even then, he can picture how it would go. 

The rolled eyes, the ok-just-because-it’s-you, the play that would either be unsatisfying because he’s holding back or even worse, completely satisfying only to gut him when they got up after, wincing, saying _this was nice and all but let’s not do this too often_. 

Eddie wonders what it’s like for them, everybody else, for Buck especially, given the stories he’s heard about what Buck 1.0 got up to, but Eddie just isn’t wired the same way. 

In bed he has to be in charge. To give orders. 

To bring his hands down and watch the bruises and pleasure rise up. 

It’s who he is. 

Eddie used to think he was some sort of monster, and some part of him still does, but then there was Shannon. 

The first time his hands had closed hard around her wrists and she had arched into him, all _yes_. 

The way they were perfect for each other, at least like that. 

That had been the hardest thing about letting go, even when they weren’t compatible as parents or people. 

They’d slipped into bed as easily as they always had, the relief so thick he could practically touch it. She’d gone to her knees and he’d put on _that_ voice and yeah. 

It worked for them, like it never had with anybody else. 

Eddie knew by now he wasn’t the only guy in the world who wanted it that way, wanted to call all the shots along with calling up bruises, who wanted to tie a girl to the headboard and wanted her to want that too. 

Guys talked, in the military especially, as they hurried up to wait and wait and wait some more. And there was the news too, sometimes, always lurid and mocking. 

There were web pages and apps, but whenever he idly thought of them, he felt grossed out at himself, at how needy and twisted he was. 

Eddie hadn’t been to church since he was eighteen and a legal adult, his mother too tired to try and drag him out of bed on Sundays, but Father Solis’ voice rang perfectly clear in his eyes every time his mind strayed there. 

It was one thing with Shannon, his _wife_. Another with some doe-eyed stock model pouting him from a glowing browser window. She probably didn’t even know where the photo ended up. 

For fuck’s sake, he’d once spent an afternoon hard enough to drive nails, punishing himself by not doing anything about it, because he’d thought about how beautiful Buck would look, skin painted in all kinds of bruises, made easy to put there because of the blood thinners. 

It’s not the sort of thing a good man thinks about his best friend. Or anyone. He can’t ever go there. And besides, he didn’t _totally_ lie to Buck.

Those girls weren’t his type, as far as he could figure. By now, he can practically scent out people like him. 

More than half the people at the street fights were into it, in one way or another, and that’s enough to make Eddie hate himself just a little bit more. 

He can admit now how much that particular frustration led to him getting on the other side of that fence. 

How much more manageable having Buck around, blushing in his kitchen and letting Eddie plan their weekends and movie nights, even manhandle him once or twice, made it. 

It just meant it hurt all the worse when he was gone. 

Another reason amongst the thousand why he can’t go there with Buck. 

The other is Christopher, his son, the best part of his life. He loves Buck. And Eddie loves that he does. 

Just the thought of how hurt he would be if he ever saw a bruise on Buck that Eddie put there on purpose is enough to make his blood run cold. 

Eddie still doesn’t understand how someone like him, like Shannon, ever made a kid as great as Christopher. But he’s done questioning it. 

Since he came back, in every way, his only goal is to leave their past behind and be the best father he can be. He’s failed more often than he’d like to think about, but he refuses to give up. And he’s found a family that’s right there alongside him to help him do it. 

He loves them, really, but he could live without them if he had to. Except for Buck. By now, they _need_ each other. 

Which is exactly why Eddie needs to think with his big head and remind himself that it’s no tragedy that he’s effectively celibate. That there’s options if he gets too crazy. 

And that Evan Buckley will never, ever, be one of them. 

It’s hard to remember sometimes, though. Like when they’re having “just a couple of beers”, at home on Eddie’s couch like they’ve lived together for years, Christopher freshly put to bed with kisses from them both. 

And Eddie says something stupid, like that this is the life or that he doesn’t need anything else, and Buck says something stupider like that Eddie needs a girl to go with this picture because _seriously dude anybody would be lucky to have a guy like you._

It makes Eddie want to say Buck has lips pretty enough for anyone, male or female, and that he does what Eddie says, all the time, and he should do this too. 

Go down on both knees. 

He doesn’t of course. 

Eddie’s got plenty of self-control, from the army and parenthood and the fire house, even if sometimes, usually with Buck involved, it doesn’t seem like it. 

What he says is: “dating, man. Who has time for that? I don’t even remember how”.

Buck smiles at him over the couch, a little drunk, a lot eager to _help_ because that’s just who he is. “Seriously? I can wingman for you dude I am _great_ at it” he says and he probably is. 

But not for what Eddie _wants_. And it’s not like Eddie can _tell_ him. 

Not without ruining everything by saying it out loud. Or well. He could. 

And Buck would be helpful, the way he always is. He’d let Eddie. He’d do whatever he wanted, anything, everything. 

Because Buck is loving, Buck is kind, and Buck feels fucking _guilty_. 

Still. For everything, up to and including a tsunami. 

Especially after the lawsuit, when he would have done anything, even gone to his knees in the middle of the station with the Halloween decorations still half packed around them if Eddie had given the order. 

And because he’s terrified, too, underneath the bravado. Of getting left behind. Again. 

Eddie knows these things because Buck trusts him and his eyes work. Brain too. 

The way he wilts whenever someone seems even vaguely irritable. And then runs to tell jokes and make food and fix it because if not it will be his fault, somehow. 

The way he still lights up when he sees Maddie, like her continued presence is too good to be true. Buck loves and loves and loses. 

And he just keeps loving, even after all he’s gotten is left, spending months in an empty apartment with the ghost of what he had. 

Eddie can’t be the sort of monster to take advantage of that. No matter how angry he might have been, what fantasies he might have entertained. To be the kind of man to take something Buck doesn’t want to give but would anyway. 

So he takes a swig of beer and implies Buck can’t pull, to make him laugh and protest.

Get them both back on solid ground. 

It’s not easy, but it’s not hard. Sometimes he feels that for Buck, right after Christopher, he could do anything.

At least until they’re on a call and it’s the scenario he’s had nightmares about, someone like Eddie and someone like Shannon and all of it going wrong. 

He can’t look anybody in the eye, hoping they’ll think it’s because of the job, keeping his stare firmly fixed on the pipe he needs to cut through. 

The man chained to it seems grateful for Eddie’s solemnity, or maybe he can sense something else. 

Every few seconds his face crumples in worry as he asks again about the woman they carried out to the ambulance, who had been the one to tie him to the pipe and later managed to call 911 through a heart attack. 

They’ve been together nearly fifteen years, he’s said six or seven times already, two kids and a nice house and a cat howling at them from somewhere inside. 

“Here” Buck says with an easy smile aimed at them both, steadying the sex swing that keeps smacking Eddie’s head. 

Eddie just grunts. He can’t trust his voice right now. Or look Buck right in the eyes. They’re too goddamn bright. 

Chim walks back in too, reassuring the guy that she’ll be fine, that she’s a fighter. 

“I know” he says and shrinks into himself, wrapping his free hand around his newly liberated ankle. 

There’s a part of Eddie that knows exactly what to do, exactly why the idea of being tied down is a comfort to him, and what voice Eddie would need to use to make this all go smooth. 

The only somewhat hidden grimace on Chim’s face keeps him quiet. 

Same with how hard Buck’s trying to get him to look, to meet his eyes over the leather seat that smells like years’ worth of sex, like a puppy holding a mangled snake. 

Eddie’s palm itches with the urge to grab the back of Buck’s neck and _shake_ , give him the rough sort of attention he’s craving right now, naughty and needy. 

But it’s all a joke to Buck. 

To all of them. 

He gets through the metal without another word and he doesn’t look over at Buck, grabbing the man by the elbow, overly aware of how he melts into his grasp. 

Eddie wonders what this looks like to the others, and his lunch lurches. Mechanically, he makes his way back to the truck and braces himself for what is sure to be a terrible conversation, one way or another.

Turns out, he doesn’t have to worry about being the one that sticks out. 

It’s Buck, the way it always is, because someone taught him negative attention is better than no attention years ago. 

It makes Eddie’s fingers itch, in a bad way, the portrait he’s managed to paint of the elder generation of Buckleys between what Buck and Maddie do and pointedly don’t say. It’s not a pretty one. 

“I’m just sayin’” Buck says like anybody actually was speaking, because silence is his antithesis and Eddie can practically feel Chimney bursting to talk about the scene earlier anyway.

“Don’t tell me you’ve tried _that_ Buckaroo, even 1.0 you couldn’t have been that hard up” Chim says, with a smile in his voice that means this is all a silly gag and Eddie has to fight to keep the scowl off his face and his hands flat on his thighs.

It’s the military all over again, only Chim won’t pull a knife on him as part of the game. He learned a long time ago not to give himself away. Especially when it came to boys that looked like Buck.

“You gotta try stuff, uh, what’s that saying? Variety’s the spice of life?” Buck says with a naughty grin, not looking in the direction of Chim’s delighted laugh but right at Eddie, who tries to look neutral or annoyed.

It isn’t the first thing he’s said to make Eddie wonder about Buck and Abby, the desolate way Buck had haunted her door, until he reminds himself to wrench his thoughts away. 

It would track, if you have a mind like Eddie’s, that knows how these things can work. Or maybe it’s just the worst sort of wishful thinking. 

So he puts it out of his head and hopes to forget it. He manages about six hours. And then he’s home all alone, for once. 

Eddie doesn’t have much time to masturbate. _Honestly_. 

Between the job and parenting Chris and Buck insisting he needs Eddie’s oven and that he will trust Eddie as far as peeling apples, all while he’s also trying to not think about what he likes and how impossible it is to get what he wants, Eddie doesn’t do it for as long as he can manage it. 

Besides, months of deployment and years from being a teenager has dulled the need.

But tonight he grabs himself almost as soon as he’s through the door. He can’t not. 

There’s been an itch under his skin, his pants a little too tight, ever since Buck grinned over at him over the sex swing, teasing and warm and enough to make Eddie want to march over there and wipe it off with his hands and his teeth.

Some eerie little voice in his head saying that Buck would like it, _welcome_ it, wouldn’t push him away. As if that could be true. 

Still, the house is empty and still and Eddie’s hand is exactly the right kind of rough, palming himself through his soaked underwear. Sometimes he just has to admit he’s a monster and enjoy it. He can feel guilty later.

So he settles in his big too empty bed and lets his mind wander to the places he’s tried and failed to exorcise.

He pictures Buck the way he usually tries to avoid thinking of him: splayed out like a sacrifice, arms locked behind his head and legs spread, eager for whatever Eddie gives him. 

Eyes wide and blue and open, ready to fill with tears. 

All he wants in the darkest corners of his heart: Buck with collar on his neck, bruises on his hips, swollen lips calling his name.

It’s easy to do. It’s sick and wrong and deranged and he comes so hard his spine feels like jelly. 

When he finishes, he promises himself again, for the thousandth time, that Buck will never, ever know. 

Because even if Buck wasn’t his best friend, his son’s other dad, practically Eddie’s _wife_ and way better at and happier about it than Shannon ever was, Eddie can’t ever have him. 

There’s no way in Hell he would ever deserve him. 

Not when Eddie is who he is. Not just because he’s the kind of guy that thinks of Buck in tears when he takes himself in hand. 

That would be enough. More than enough.

But Eddie also has a box with blood stained dollars and a medal he doesn’t wear in public under his bed. 

He ran out on his son, no matter that he eventually came back. 

He beat strangers in the street and took his hits with a smile because in his blood he’s a violent man. Always has been.

He loves Buck too much to ever try to love him the way he wants. 

He doesn’t know how to do it without hurting, one way or another. 

It takes him less than a week to break that vow. 

The thing is, he’s already off kilter, twitchy in the worst way. It's just more grief he doesn’t need. 

He’s been distracted since Wednesday, when he drops off Chris and Tia Pepa at the airport, so they can spend some time with his parents in Texas. Which is good, which is fine. 

Only it’s driving him crazy. 

They make it there alright, sure, and Chris calls every night, excited to share his adventures and ask about the 118 and his Buck, but Eddie can’t shake the lingering fear. 

What if one day he calls and says he doesn’t want to come back. That he wants to stay in Texas, that he’s realized he deserved more than his father. 

What would Eddie even _say_? 

He can feel the glances the team shares behind his back, the way he’s more irritable than usual, more tempted than ever to go downtown and beat a man’s face in for daring to exist in his orbit, the whole world an insult when Eddie feels this way. 

It doesn’t help that he has nothing to fill his time, too used to spending all his energy on Chris and Buck, when he’s there, which is more often than not. 

Even now, Buck comes over with a six pack and a smile, but with the tiny shadow that’s always in the corner of his mouth scared that Eddie’s going to turn him away. Even now. 

It just makes the ache worse, the urge to push him to his knees and the lingering suspicion that Buck would let him. 

That he’d _like_ it. 

Or that he’d do it out of some combination of his martyr complex and misplaced gratitude and apology. 

So Eddie rumbles something incoherent and lets Buck in, something in him soothed by how easily he moves around the kitchen, like he lives here. 

But he doesn’t, and doesn’t want to, and suddenly Eddie is angry all over again over something frankly fucking ridiculous. 

Buck senses the change in mood, like a cow scenting the wind. Not the kind of instincts someone with a good childhood develops, and Eddie slips back into feeling guilty. 

It’s such a rollercoaster he’s thinking of calling up Frank to say he might have some sort of disorder. 

“I’m sorry” he says and Buck’s head snaps up like maybe it was the wrong thing to say. Like maybe he thinks Eddie’s mood is his fault. It’s sad but not surprising. 

“I just miss Chris” he adds and Buck’s shoulders loosen, just a little. 

“Me too” he says, looking up at Eddie through his lashes, guilty, and Eddie knows exactly where his head’s gone. 

The day Buck and Eddie’s son had been swallowed up by water. And by some miracle returned to him. 

“Stop that” Eddie growls, actually reaching out to shake him, softly, by the hair. He’s too raw, too keyed-up to stop himself, to remember why that’s a terrible idea.

“Stop beating yourself up over a natural disaster” he adds as he does. 

It’s a mistake, no matter how gently he does it, no real tug or pain. 

Buck’s pupils blow wide open. He tilts his chin up, exposes his neck. He knows what this is. 

He _wants_ what this is. 

Maybe they were headed here all along. 

“Buck-” Eddie says, half choking on his own tongue with want, thumb moving to the fat pink center of Buck’s lower lip, pressing it hard against the teeth. Not enough to split, but enough to make it clear what Eddie’s offering, here. 

“Please,” Buck says when Eddie’s thumb keeps moving, digging in hard. Buck’s done this. 

Buck’s _missed_ this. 

Maybe Eddie shouldn’t hate Abby half as much as he does, even if he’ll never forgive anyone for breaking Buck’s heart. Not even himself. 

Another reason to pull back, to apologize, to tell him nothing will ever come between them, not even Eddie and all his mess. 

As if he could, with Buck looking at him like that. 

“Alright” he hears himself say, faraway. 

Steady and in charge. The way he always does, when this is what he does. 

“Get up” he says and Buck scrambles, eager and yeah, Eddie’s in deep here. And he doesn’t care. 

“Put your hands on the wall, _now”_ he says, enjoying how Buck does, arching without meaning to, head dropped between his shoulder blades in submission. To Eddie. 

It’s everything he ever dreamed of, and more. 

He’s a perfect line of muscle and heat, made soft and languid just by Eddie using that voice. 

He presses his hands right at Buck’s lower back, forcing him to arch further, enjoy how pliant, how quiet he’s gone. 

Eddie’s fully in control and they both want it that way. 

“What’s your word?” he says, skating his nails everywhere, erratically, keeping Buck off balance as he twitches, trying to anticipate his next move. 

That’ll stop soon, when he relaxes enough to just take whatever Eddie gives him. 

“We, uhm, I used to use-” he breaks off at a hard slap to his thigh. 

Eddie tugs at his hair, pulling his head back, digging his nails into his soft scalp. “Did I _ask_ what word you used with _someone else_? I asked what word you use with _me”_ he says, watching Buck sink deeper and deeper into himself, practically hearing his brain wind down and go silent. Good. 

“Uh. Texas?” he says, and if he didn’t sound so eager, so shy, so ready to be shut down, maybe Eddie would even have laughed. 

Instead, he slaps Buck’s stomach, quick and stinging, then rubs a rough hand over his crotch, strained over the denim fabric. 

From the way Buck keens, it’s better than a kiss. 

“You need to be punished” he says, low and close to Buck’s neck and the way he melts and murmurs “Yes, yes, _please_ ” means Eddie was right. 

It goes beyond want, right down to the way Buck is, the way he puts everything on his shoulders, his daily guilt and fear. 

Eddie can take that from him. He wants to. 

“Alright” he says, pulling away entirely, watching how Buck’s body tries to pull him back, even as his hands tremble, flat, on the wall. He’s trying so hard. 

“You can be good for me,” Eddie says and Buck shudders, like he’s fighting the urge to say no, that he’s never been any good. Eddie knows him so _well_.

“Not a question. You can, you will” and Buck settles, head dropping between his shoulders instead of trying to arch back to see Eddie. 

He doesn’t need more confirmation, more reason to trust Eddie. It’s out of his hands, and they’re both glad for it. 

Eddie takes a step back, trying to time it. 

To have Buck just start to wonder if being ignored is his punishment. He’d take just about anything but that, do anything to be seen. 

Eddie’s not going to leave him hanging. 

“Shh” he says, gentling, because there’s no way he could do this without being tender, without exposing everything it means to him. 

Then he settles one big hand around Buck’s hip and brings the other down hard on the thickest part of his thigh, enjoying how he jumps, how he wasn’t expecting it. 

Then he really starts, laying down blows fast and random, watching him try to anticipate until finally, finally, he gives in. 

Gives up control. 

His back arches, an impossible bow, and his eyelashes flutter, almost insultingly perfect, onto his cheeks, flushed pink. 

Which is when some monster in Eddie’s chest roars and makes him yank down Buck’s jeans just enough to expose his other adorable set of cheeks. 

Buck doesn’t even flinch, just adjusting his feet to the new stance only when Eddie roughly taps at him. 

For a second he pauses, watching the cool air circling around them make his skin pebble. It’s beautiful, and not nearly red enough. 

Not with the marks Eddie wants to put on him. 

The message he’s going to spell out in bruises: _mine, home, here_. 

Buck keeps making the most perfect noises, his spine curving up to meet Eddie’s hands and it’s so beautiful, so overwhelmingly intoxicating, that Eddie has to suck a bruise into his neck, whisper “Baby, you’re doing so well” and enjoy his high pitched whine. 

He moves Buck’s hips for leverage, driving them against each other in a parody of what they _could_ be doing. 

But not tonight. 

They’re too raw tonight. He wants it to be good, when they do. 

Eddie knows he’s measuring up against a litany of former lovers. He never wants Buck to want anybody else. 

“Shh” he gentles him, running his hands over his soft skin, where the sun never shines, going from his tan lines. 

Surprising him now and then with a slap or two, pressing his knuckles against the red. 

Buck’s so perfect it kind of hurts, like he was made just for Eddie, keening eagerly for more of him, which isn’t something he’s even come close to deserving. 

It flares up inside him, the throbbing hurt of not being good enough, of being fundamentally unlovable, made slick and painful by the overwhelming love he feels for Buck. 

Eddie’s never taken it well. It always morphs to anger. 

He grinds forward, his left hand skipping up Buck’s toned chest, pressing against his breastbone to feel the jack rabbit beat of his heart, his right hand slipping over Buck’s hip onto the silky steel heat between his legs. 

He squeezes with a huffing laugh at Buck’s tortured moan. 

“Enjoying yourself?” he says, teasing, soothed by how much they both want this, at least. 

“We both know you’re not getting off today” he adds, because he’s not. 

Buck would say he hadn’t earned it, and Eddie would say he wants it to be special. Roughly, it’s the same thing. 

“Listen up -he growls, tugging Buck somewhere that he’s very sensitive to ensure his undivided attention- I’m going to finish punishing you now. And after that, it’s over”. 

Buck surges, like a live wire, panicked and scrambling. He doesn’t understand, doesn’t follow. 

But that’s alright. Eddie can make him. 

It’s what they both need. 

He presses Buck fully into the wall, making sure to scrape him a little, to press on his lungs just enough that he gets the message. _Go still. This isn’t your show._

“ _No_ ” Eddie says and Buck goes limp. Pliant. With a sigh of relief Eddie’s pretty sure he has no idea he’s breathed. 

“You need to _pay attention_. When I say it’s over, I mean it. You’ve _been_ punished” he rumbles into Buck’s ear. 

Like he expected, Buck shakes his head, just a little. 

Eddie knew he’d be stubborn. It just makes pounding the lesson into him all the sweeter. 

“You’re saying you know better than me? That _you_ get to tell me how this works?” he snarls. 

This time, Buck shakes his head on purpose, hard, like a dog shaking off water. 

“N-no. I just-” “Just what?” Eddie pushes and Buck finally, finally breaks. 

“Nothing, I’m so sorry, please I’ll be good, you’re _right-_ ” he cuts off with a little gasp as Eddie slaps his flank, hard and stinging. 

“Now that’s what I like to hear. I am right. And when I’m done punishing you it’s _done_ ” he adds, punctuating with a thrust between Buck’s tense thighs. 

Eddie _is_ getting off tonight. 

How could he not, with the way the tension melts out of Buck’s shoulders. He knows it’ll take a while to sink in, for Buck to stop putting on a hair shirt for all his sins, real and imagined and entirely out of his control. 

But Eddie will be there. 

In whatever capacity Buck allows him. 

As it is, this is perfect. Buck’s body under his hands, taking it beautifully, every little noise a victory that makes him ache. 

Eddie tells him as much, tells him that Buck always is good for him, enjoying how thoroughly he comes apart until it’s Eddie’s turn to shatter. 

He comes between Buck’s thighs, biting a mark between his shoulder blades, knowing the ache will remind Buck of this for _days._

Eddie runs his hands over Buck’s shaking back, tucking his gasping, tear streaked face right against his neck. 

Buck finishes falling apart in his arms and Eddie will never be content with anything else. He can _give_ Buck this, they can be here together. 

“S-sorry” Buck mumbles and Eddie laughs, kisses the corner of his eye. 

“What for? You were perfect” he says, sounding lighter than he has in years. One blue eye, surprised and glassy, looks up at him. 

“I mean that. You’re everything that I’ve ever wanted and more” Eddie adds, because it’s true and because right now, despite how hard it usually is to get the words to come to him, it’s easy. 

Buck’s fingers flex against his collar. Then the one thing Eddie isn’t expecting happens. 

His eyes dim. 

“Oh. Okay” Buck mumbles and Eddie nuzzles his head like a horse, pushing him to explain. 

This time the words aren’t there. Because maybe he read this all wrong and Buck just wanted to get off and Eddie’s making it deeply weird. 

His luck always up and leaves when he needs it most. 

“If that’s. If you never wanted to talk about it again it’s fine Buck” he says and Buck makes some wounded noise.

“I just. I can’t lie to you. Not now. I want this. Us. As partners. But only if you do, too” he says, suddenly realizing how pathetic he sounds and how he’s probably ruined whatever could have been salvaged by saying it out loud by the way Buck jumps in his arms like he’s just been hit by a live wire. 

“You mean it?” Buck says, flayed raw and that’s when Eddie realizes they’ve been having two separate conversations and Buck’s fears were the same as his. 

Maybe soulmates are real after all. How else could he explain how flawlessly they match. 

“Yeah, I mean it,” he says, and Buck’s face shines so bright it almost hurts. 

Eddie could kill everyone in his past for making Buck think that sex, whether or not it’s the way they like it, is all he’s good for. He’ll never forgive or forget that. 

Eddie wants to show him how much more than that he is. Wants to give him the world. Sex always makes him ridiculous, after.

“Come to bed with me” he says, low and sappy and love-stupid and meaning sleep. 

Buck laughs, sounding light, at last. “Any time” he says and steals a quick kitteny kiss at the hinge of Eddie’s jaw. 

Eddie has to kiss him deep, far back enough that he’ll taste Eddie for days. 

His arms tighten, because not a single part of him wants to let go of this. Not ever. 

It’s good then, that Buck doesn’t want him to.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from Halsey's very fitting [_Hold Me Down_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xKnG2d9tZdU). I just want you to know that the doc name for this was always BUDDIESM and it's V's fault because she didn't stop me.


End file.
